Chains of grudge
by Nieddu
Summary: You really should die... Feliciano. Rated T, but could change in the future. 2p! Italy.
1. Violet banned life

_Chapter I: Violet banned life_

* * *

_Is... this it...?_

Michelle Deloire laid on the floor with pocket knife piercing her side deeply. The muggers were already gone a long time ago, they had to be. No soul could be heard from where she was and she was partly grateful for it.

At least the hadn't raped her...

Her sight was getting more and more obscure as time ticked on- she was losing far too much blood from her cuts that were effectively immobilizing her on the spot. It was only a matter of time before she passed out or even died.

She couldn't even lift her hand properly to take out the blasted knife, weak to the bone and fearful as she was.

The Seychellois wanted to chuckle, but even that much she couldn't do because of her injuries and bruises. Those brutes… They had attacked her brutally and with all they had, with blunt weapons and all. To top that, they were seven, all at once against a poor young woman with no expertise in combat. It was so ridiculous that it was even laughable at this point, even in her hysterical state.

Muscles were ripped, a couple ribs in a deplorable shape too. It was a miracle that she had finally managed to suppress the pain this far, not to mention survive alone. By some miracle, she still breathed, albeit in ragged breaths, and she could still move a couple of her fingers.

This was… just too stupid. She just had to buy that wretched house in that particularly unsecure area of town, didn't she? Even if she hadn't the money to move into a mansion, she should have elected a safer possibility than this one. Just by having common sense you could detect the danger of having to take a dark alleyway in the middle of the night to get to this so-called home, right? She was so smart, wasn't she? Most of her elections had been done in a similar way to this one and they backed fired too. She should have learnt. Adapting was one thing that you had to do in order to mature and grow as years went by. Maybe her incapability to adapt had been the reason why she ended like this?

In her dying moments, the Seychellois imagined a different scenario, with plenty of possibilities and 'what if's, where she had led a really good life instead of being stuck in that town as a bartender and a life where there wouldn't be a death encounters any time soon. That life was perfect and idealized; no worries tormented her there anymore. It was a pretty easy task to do as she stared at the starless sky.

Such a good life… wasn't hers, was it?

Sobs escaped her lips. Her family, her friends, her dreams… Where were them now?

An image flashed across her mind: a perfect smile. It was strangely contagious, even more after recognizing from who it was.

That was right… If she died right now she could meet him again, be reunited with him at last after that day five years ago, right? The horror and gore of that date would not matter anymore, right?

… _Right…. _It was a poor self-assurance, but it was all the poor girl had now. After all, no one walked through these alleyways so her probabilities of rescue were null.

* * *

-;-

* * *

As chance would have it, someone did come into the alley a hour and a half later, their steps echoing and announcing the person's idle pace as they reached her spot near the trashcans.

"…"

The person glanced at her, visage blank as they analyzed the object blocking their way. She was not yet dead, but rather the woman was barely alive... What a hassle...

The person kicked the young woman lightly, but with enough force to make her snap of whatever delusion she was experiencing in her last moments. "Hey, move," Was all it was said as her eyes opened to reveal her brown orbs. Her gaze locked with theirs, her mind staying blank even after her foggy eyes gazed into the odd shade of violet.

… A man? What was he doing there...?

"Get out of my way, ragazza," A tiny kick snapped her out of her stupor momentarily and made her sight focus on him, the person towering her from her position down on the floor.

With a wince, the Seychellois was met with the most impassive face she had ever seen in her life. "You are blocking the path."

…_Quoi…?_

Blinking, the girl tried to make sense of what he had said- it was difficult, considering that she originally spoke French. The guy never gave her a chance to process the information, his irritation getting to his nerves quite quickly.

"I said: get out of my way," This time around there was no light kick, but rather a more forceful one that made her yelp in pain. "I haven't got neither the time or patience for this; I need to be somewhere, doing things useless corpses like you shouldn't be able to stop me from doing," The man mercilessly used his foot to apply pressure on one of her wounds, making her shriek on the spot.

_Corp-?! _… _! -Ça fait mal !__!_

"Arrête!" She finally gasped, feebly clenching her sides to protect herself from the aggression. "Je le vais faire! I-I mean, I-I'll move! I said I will move!"

He stopped and let his foot hover just centimeters away from her before he calmly placed it back on the ground.

"You'd better," He let the sentence hang on the air threateningly. "I'll give you one, and only one, minute to move your sorry ass out of my way. If you fail to do that…" He trailed off, shutting his eyes momentarily. He didn't need to state the rest, it was crystal clear how much of this was a threat and the obviousness of this made her tremble, "Start."

For a moment, the female gazed into his severe eyes, wondering if it was the farce she surely hoped it was. Had he not seen the bruises?! Had he not seen her deplorable state already?! Why wasn't he aiding her, taking her to a blasted hospital, for instance?!

"Time is ticking; you'd better begin." Seeing that she stood there still, he calmly leaned against the wall and brought up a single blade into view, his mouth shaping into an hypnotic smirk that made the hairs in the back of her neck stand in awareness. Sugarcoated numbers were coming out of his mouth, "45, 44, 43…"

No way… No… He couldn't be actually serious?!

Michelle looked around in alarm, already panting from the tension, and realized that there was a tiny spot where she could merge with the shadows and let the psychotic man with Italian accent pass without a problem.

If only it was that easy…

The Seychellois' instinct and mind bellowed her body to move, yet her body only stirred in response, barely shifting her weight to the side an inch.

"Eleven seconds." The heartless man commented passively.

"S-Shut up!"

Desperation. Frustration. The girl attempted to move her motionless legs with the only good arm she had, the other left responsible of lifting the rest of her body, even though it was damaged pretty badly, as fate had it.

Once she had successfully put it aside, she went for the other one, a ridiculously massive amount of sweat dropping nonstop as she grew painfully aware that the countdown was reaching its end. A pool formed beneath her and… she slipped.

Her face collided first thing against the ground, her body twitching as she made the effort to bring herself up again. The knife that had been hesitating whether or not come out fell down to the ground as the Seychellois tried to stand, making more crimson liquid ooze out of her wound.

"This is unfair," Tears trailed down her cheeks and increased the size of the mini pool, another wave of pain striking her and making her wince yet again. Michelle could feel him next to her and she suspected that the cold bastard was probably playing with his weapon tentively.

"Just jump over me, damn it!" She somehow managed to turn to face him with the angriest glare she could muster. Contrarily to hers, his face had slid back to the impassive mask and there was no change in the least for his part, aside from that shadow that was crossing his face and eyes as he stared down at her, weapon ready to strike. "It isn't as if you are going to die if you do, isn't it?! Why the hell do you have to pick on me _now_ of all times?! Let me be!"

"Four, three…"

She cackled sourly. "I hope you get curse from killing me; you and those bastards that beat me up!"

"Two…"

"Va te faire foutre," She hissed under her breath, her eyes welling up no tears because of the lack of water in her system. Michelle could only whimper powerlessly as she tried to back away in vain, valiant façade gone since long as his strong hands grabbed a handful of her loose hair, flipping her upside-down to make the slaughter easier for the killer.

"One…" The force of the motion left the Seychellois breathless, literally. She could only stare ahead into those purple pools of his, her mind not even noticing how the lethal blade approached because of the impact in the back of her head.

"Zero…"

….

* * *

-;-

* * *

The man known as Feliciano Vargas watched through his glinting orbs as the blade cut the neck and opened it up. … How funnily ironic was how much blood the corpse had retained after having bleed distastefully all over the floor of the alley.

Trashing would not be of use, but the corpse's limbs wouldn't give out, kicking and smacking everything within reach. Entertaining, but fruitless, either way. It wouldn't matter in the end, would it now? How much for the body to shut down completely? Five, ten seconds? Feliciano bet for the latter just to amuse himself.

As expected, just as the struggling had began, it also ended just as suddenly. In the record of five seconds as well.

Well… That had gone smoothly. People wouldn't come because of her previous shrieks and squeals for help (because that was just how the neighborhood worked) and the police wouldn't find anything until too late. And even then there wouldn't be any kind of evidence pointing in his direction. He had been particularly careful about that.

Silently and efficiently, that was how the Italian worked. Her vocal chords were no more now and she wouldn't attract any attention as her life descended to the void.

As unnecessary as this murder was, it was perfect as always. Nonno would have been proud without a doubt.

"_No hesitation or amateur acts will be allowed. Never."_

Expertise. Pride. Perfection. Those were his grandfather's values that had been transferred to the next generation. Nothing else mattered.

As if he didn't already know that.

The man did not even flinch after seeing that even after death those brown hateful eyes were still directly locked with his. Instead, Feliciano bent down to grab the handle sticking out of her trachea, examining it carefully before pulling it out with expertise that could only be obtained after years of practice. He glanced at the pocket knife that had been thrown about next to the corpse, deciding against retrieving such low-quality weapon. It was filthy compared to the knife he held in hand, not to mention useless.

"What an idiotic girl." Was all the Italian said as he wiped the blood smeared in it, "Such a good quality weapon shouldn't be used on people like that, che sarebbe stato una perdita…"

Once cleaned, the curl-bearer put away the weaponry and bloodstained handkerchief into one of his large pockets of his jean jacket and started walking away from the corpse of the woman, casually as he always did.

He never, ever glanced back after his work was done.

However, in that pitch-black night some kind of impulse made him turn just as he was about to go into the public streets once more.

Far in the distance, he could swore that he could see a pair of fish-like orbs observing him from afar, the corpse's twisted form only making that fact more macabre for its head was facing his way, being upside-down as it was.

_Va te faire foutre…_

Feliciano only narrowed his eyes just a bit, wind messing with his hair as he witnessed the bloodthirsty glare the corpse was giving him.

"… What a terrible expression for the dead to have."

* * *

_Author's note:_

_This is the end of the prologue, but expect more gore and heartless Feliciano in the future and some supernatural events as well._

_The pairing will **N. Italy x Seychelles** __because my sick troll nature commands me to; however, I will let you, readers, know that you shouldn't expect any fluff any soon. This is a really dark piece, or at least in the beggining. Also Italy is more likely to behave here like his opposite, 2p Italy. I've warned you ahead, so don't sue me._

_I bet that most of you can guess how this will progress. Leave your best guesses in the reviews and if you do want me to improve my writing then also leave some tips there as well. Oh, I would be grateful also if you drop some ideas. I hope that people will read this because the comments push me further to continue all I do. _

_Let's do something: **If there's 10 reviews for this then I will guarantee you another chapter next week. If there's no such number of reviews, the updates will be slower. **Let's see if this makes it. I will be really glad if it does._

_Well then, thank you for reading up to here! _

_Ciao~_

_Nieddu_


	2. The Ties that Bind Us Together

_Chapter II: The Ties that Bind us Together_

* * *

The café was simply a plain and atrocious disaster.

The wretched furnace, the flipped over tables and the now-rendered-useless devices were all the work of two men; the predator and the prey's to be exact. Despite the outcome of the situation, the struggle had gone for far more time than planned, Arthur having encountered this day's victim fiercer than he had first suspected.

Damn it all…

The English gritted his teeth and glowered at the still body beneath him. With a chagrin, he wiped off the blood smeared on his bottom lip and spat what rested inside his mouth on the corpse. A little of saliva and blood wouldn't matter in this case, considering that this damn bastard would end up in the bottom of the sea by tomorrow; evidence erased from peers instantly. Besides, he was too weak to continue to beat some corpse up so his spit would have to do.

Gupta Muhammad Hassan… Eliminated, at last.

With a sigh, he turned around to fetch his loyal gun that had been lying on the cold floor ever since the Egyptian had nearly strangled him to death. At the touch of its handle, Arthur felt himself relax for a bit.

Just… How many times he had to do this? When would it be all over? He hated to be someone's pawn because of the fact that he and his family did not have the money to cover all their debts… But he guessed that this was way more favorable for the three of them instead of them being sold off like some slaves.

… But still-!

His phone vibrated in his pocket, cutting his inward ranting short. Startled hands reached into his pocket and he squinted to get a closer look at the screen. His eyesight had beginning to fail him for some unknown reason, but there was no way in hell that he could confuse this name for another.

What did Vargas wanted now…? He gulped nervously before answering his boss' call.

"Kirkland here," He muttered, not wanting the Italian to hear to hear the poor state of his voice right now.

"Arthur~! How's all going over there, buddy~?" … There was no mistake. This was the older of the Vargas brothers, Romano, or, how he loved people to call him, Lovino. For the Englishman, however, this man would forever be a wanker, no matter how he claimed to call himself.

Flamboyant and stupid… At first glance that's what this guy appeared to be, but the true was it was always troublesome to deal with this guy. Especially when he knew your number-one weakness.

"If you refer to the job, it's already done," He impassively stated, scratching the back of his head in discomfort. He stretched and made his way to the door, pocketing the weapon in the process. "You better send in someone to clean. The mess will attract attention if you don't."

"Of course, silly~! A pair of janitors are already on their way! But I am not talking about this 'job' you babble about! And can you talk a little less stiff? All this formality is suffocating!"

_Well, it can't really be helped since you are the eejit that got me into all of this in the bloody first place!_

"I don't think I'll stop talking like this even if you tell me off because of my way of speaking, Boss," Arthur massaged his temples, biting his lower lip in annoyance. "Just cut to the chase, all right? Do you have another bloody soul you need me to take care of?" He swiftly opened the back entrance and descended the stairs of the victim's house, not really caring about being seen exiting it in the middle of the night. The light was too dim for anyone to have a good look on his face, anyway.

"Yep, that's exactly it! How on earth did you know~?" The bastard was dragging this conversation on just to spike his anger, it seemed. "Are you by any chance-?"

"No, I am no mind reader, you- Boss!" He amended in the last second, "Just tell me what I have to do so I can get over this," This night was getting too much to him and he didn't need to have another fool to tamper with it. What he'd give to be alone with his younger brothers, Alfred and Matthew that instant…

"Aw~ You are no fun~ Well, okay then. I guess I'll get to the point," Though Lovino sounded outright disappointed, Arthur released a smirk of relief at the sentence. "The poor soul you are talking about is no other than your partner in crime, Francis Bonnefoy!"

"…" _I don't like where this is going._

"You see, he's wasted again in 'Mayhem's tavern'~! I need you to pick him up! Ya see, the lad has been exhausted again, you know? And he had to drink a couple or two of those wines he just loves from the bottom of his heart! So I thought how wonderful it would be if ya, the typical drunkard, took care of his so beloved friend!" Now the Italian was just mocking him, him and his bloody English accent. "I expect you two to be here with perfect punctuality at 2 am!"

And that was in approximately in half an hour. In other words, what he just sputtered was just pure nonsense. Nonsense that could definitely be the manifestation of the Italian's hostility directed to him.

Arthur could take no more. "But that's in the other side of the fucking city, you ass-kisser dago!"

"Ouch! That burns~! Better you get going then, you adorable little brute~!" And suddenly the other line went silent after his not-so-lenient reply. It took a couple of insults for Arthur to finally realize that he was cursing the air and that his outburst was obviously going to wake the neighborhood if he kept going.

"Fuckin' dago," The Englishman spat and glared at the car beside him. He was going to have to steal another one of those again.

* * *

-;-

* * *

Francis Bonnefoy was sprawled all over the counter, drool coming out of his mouth as if was a mini-sized river of human fluids mixed with alcohol. Next to him, Eduard von Bock, proud Estonian, poked him in curiosity, as if to see if there was going to be any kind of reaction from the other passed out costumer, but receiving none, just as expected.

"See?! Knocked out like a little baby! Now the guy is in lala-land and probably dreaming of unicorns and that kind of crappy stuff!" Gilbert Beilschmidt celebrated drowning himself in another of his beers, winking to a passing lady just moments before he himself was knocked out by an equally intoxicated Hungarian woman, more specifically Elizabeta Héderváry, currently in possession of a local frying pan.

"Shadup! You stupid pig!" The Hungarian cursed as she unsteadily shook the auto-claimed Prussian's body, taking him out of his chair and ranting to the air while the albino saw stars inside his mind. "No one cares about that! And what was that about with that stupid girl, huh?!" The public had yet to decide whether the redness of her visage was either from the fury welling up inside her or if it was the effect of the alcoholic beverages she had so obviously digested during her stay.

"That woman is scary, aru…" A Chinaman mumbled, inching away from the show from his spot next to the Estonian.

"Agreed," Eduard nodded, flinching as Elizabeta started drinking from the beer that was rightfully from the albino. Right now, he was just glad he wasn't that albino's shoes.

"Hm… Shouldn't we stop her?" Lithuanian Toris Laurinaitis uncertainly suggested midst his shaking to his fellow partner drinkers.

"No! No thanks!" Both of them rejected it at the same time.

The Lithuanian gulped. He was the only one left to do it, he guessed…

Toris fearfully approached long-haired woman, knees shaking uncontrollably as he neared her even more. Behind him, the Chinaman and the Estonian gaped like fish out of the water at his back. Scratch that: he was sure that the whole room shared their faces at the moment.

There was utter silence when he tapped the Hungarian's shoulders, all mindful and expectant of what would happen next.

"Hm… Ex-Excuse me?" Toris fumbled for words, his eyes widening when she suddenly turned to face him with a green expression.

"I… I don't feel so well…" Elizabeta mumbled before poking all over his shoes. Toris shuddered, but otherwise didn't do much more than crying silently in his mind.

_This will end soon…! Please let it end soon!_

"Hahaha! Like he has the best luck ever!" Feliks Łukasiewicz laughed at his friend's expense quite loudly behind him.

Eduard winced, feeling bad at his friend's situation, contrarily to Feliks' joy.

"That's nasty…" A breeze of rotten breath came to meet his nose unexpectedly. The French accent did not escape Eduard as he turned to see how Francis was faring throughout the entire ordeal as well.

"Yeah," He crunched his nose, but not because of Toris this time. Francis Bonnefoy wasn't the exact image of hygiene right now, not even remotely close. For instance, the clothes the Frenchman used to brag about were all drenched of the poor quality food of the restaurant and the staining wine with he intoxicated himself all night. His hair was equally dirty with some maroon substance and, man, didn't the man smell terrible! As if he hadn't taken a shower through days! "How bad are you?"

"I feel like _merde_, if you get what I say…" Francis shook his head slowly in an attempt to keep himself awake.

_And you look like one_, Eduard tactlessly commented in his mind. "Do you want me to call someone for you?" He amended aloud with a touch of worry in his voice. Back in the background, the door creaked open and slammed itself quite loudly.

"No, just let me be," The blonde-haired man frowned and leaned on the counter further, resting his chin on his arms to get into a comfortable position. "It isn't like anyone would pick me up, anyway. They are all heartless bastards… Ugh!" Francis groaned in discomfort, "I think I am going to empty my stomach any minute…"

Eduard flinched and backed away from him for good measure.

"How bad do I look?" Francis growled, looking at the Estonian from the sidelines, "That bad, huh?" He seemed to study the disgust manifested in Eduard's face with interest, ignoring the other man that had decided to sit next to him from the other side.

"No! You are not looking bad at all! You are-" The man with glasses stumbled with the words that threatened to come out- a knot in his throat preventing him from amending his mistake.

"I didn't bathe in two days in a row," Francis chuckled dryly, a smirk taking over his features. "I would be surprised if I had a presentable appearance at all!"

_So that's why you smell like a rotten dog, huh? _Arthur blankly commented in the back of his mind, taking a swig of his glass of water as he listened in to the conversation taking place just beside him.

"And why's that?" Eduard finally asked, his face crunching for another entire reason as he stood up from his stool. He looked enraged, but Francis knew that the guy was only worried about him. They _had_ been buddies since kindergarten, after all. "Is it your job again? Does your boss actually decided to treat you like a slave? Have you turned to drugs? Just what's the matter with you?!"

The Frenchman blinked and then laughed for the first time in a long time, provoking his friend further enough for Eduard to turn redder than a tomato.

"What are you laughing at?!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Francis cackled with no real emotion behind. Tears had begun welling up in his eyes as he raised his head to contemplate his friend for the first time in years. "You just had to piss off the wrong people, didn't you? Well, with your infamous hacking skills I guess that it was bound to happen sooner or earlier…" He hummed, narrowing absent-mindedly his eyes as he scratched the back of his head.

"Huh?" Eduard stumbled because of the sudden change in the course of their conversation. Arthur's head snapped in their direction in alarm, aware that this wasn't looking favorable for neither of the dialoguers. "Wha-?"

"If you hadn't done anything stupid you'd had been fine. I never took you for a stupid guy, Eduard," Francis muttered, standing up and looking at the Estonian in the eye. "If you don't get out of the city we will have another reunion, and this time not a pleasant one."

"Frog…" Arthur warned him in a threatening voice as he stepped between the two of them. "You'd better shut your trap this instant."

"Oh, Arthur! I wasn't aware that you were with us!" Francis exclaimed cheerfully, as if approving of the interruption. He blissfully swung his arm over the Brit's shoulders, using it as leverage as he dragged the Englishman towards the door with him, babbling nonsense on their way there. "Be a good boy and help me out, s'il vous plait! I need a pretty lady to spend the night! Do you by any chance-?"

"Wait! Francis! What the heck are you talking about?!" They heard Eduard's drown out voice yell from behind. The panic behind it was practically palpable. "Francis?!"

Arthur glanced in his direction, quickly regretting the action and turning his face away from the Estonian's visage. He bit his lip before muttering: "You are seriously insane, Frog. You know the consequences of this, right?"

"I really don't know what you are talking about!" Francis hummed happily.

"Ha," The Brit dryly laughed, "I'll believe it when you stop trembling." He somehow managed to creak open the bar's door, Francis obstructing his movements and all.

The Chinaman and the Estonian were probably the only ones that saw them walk pass the entrance, each one giving them their own share of flabbergasted stares as they disappeared from sight.

* * *

_Eduard von Bock: Hacker. Caused the arrest of several members of the Organization and affiliates._

_Potential danger: High._

_Target must be eliminated._

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Someone asked how the other characters will be introduced and what role they will have inside the story. Miss-Crystal-chan, I hope that your doubts were answered at least a bit. This chapter was mainly to add a little of context, to make the reader realize what kind of situation the Hetalia characters are in._

_I warned you that this was a dark story._

_Supernatural events will start soon enough, probably in the next update or in the next one to that._

_Thank you for all the suggestions and reviews! I was amazed that people actually reviewed for this story- it didn't reach the 10 reviews, but honestly? I should just keep dreaming... XD This couple doesn't have a huge fandom, after all._

_Sorry for the wait and I apologize if you spot any type of typos of any kind :D_

_Nieddu_

* * *

Now, the time to answer questions:

_**Is she going to haunt him? ****(By: Bemony'n'Menisha)**_

_Ghosts rancourous like Michelle are always going to be thristy for something more. There is too much hatred in her heart for her to rest, so she'll probably just do that, yes._

**_Is Michelle/Seychelles alive somehow? Did someone find her? (By: Miss-Crystal-chan) _**

_No. Michelle is dead, her pulse long gone. She was found later, of course, but no one could do anything to save the poor girl's life. Right now, in this stage of the story, the police are iniciating the murder investigation. Not that they are going to find the culprit..._

_**Were the eyes staring at Feliciano (in the previous chapter) some kind of fish spirit or something? (By: Hetabee)**  
_

_No. That was the corpse, but it was a very creative idea there. Just picture Michelle staring at Feliciano from the floor from afar, upside down as he had left her._


End file.
